Category: Uncategorized

>
The dogs are not mine. They are, in a manner of speaking, my siblings. Arrow, Valentino, Jilly, Saint, Emmy and Andy. My parents kicked me out to make room for the dogs. My brother still lives with them, but his status as a human has not yet been confirmed. We’re still waiting for the DNA test results.

Disclaimer: my parents did not, in fact, kick me out. This statement is intended to assure me of placement in their will.

My greyhound, Gee, has recently been afflicted with bouts of diarrhea. It does not make me happy. It makes me clean up a great deal of shit, which also does not make me happy. I am just all kinds of unhappy at the moment.

So why is it that I feel guilty when I don’t write in here? Hellifiknow. You do need to stop putting this much pressure on me. You’re helping no one.

I had a couple good blog ideas but that was yesterday.

Leemee hone.

Vote for Pedro.

Voulez-voulez-vous Pedro

>Jus’ gonna jot something down here real quick before “The Office” comes on. After that, I need to go to bed since tomorrow’s my Monday. Nice.

Ah, the Koo has come to say hello. Hi, Koo. The Koo has brought me his raggedy chew-duck-toy. He wishes to play. I do not. I am merely awaiting 9:30. Shoo, Koo…Shoo.

Being that yesterday and today were my days off and I went nowhere, nothing exceptional happened. I just took turns zoning out either in front of my painting or the XBox. I was playing the Legend of Zelda today. There is also a rather impressive Sega-version of Jeopardy on there too. Only problem is you can’t pick what player you want, so every time you play, you’re stuck as this guy who looks like the type of guy who’s never been nor never gonna get laid. It sucks. It’s hard to concentrate with this pathetic little fellow peering at me through his bottle-bottom glasses from behind his podium. I don’t want him peering at me. Unfortunately, my requests to Mr. Trebek have gone unheard. ‘Tis a heartless world, it is.

Ah. 9:21. I’m gonna go coozie up on the sofa with the doggies and watch some TV.

G’nite.

Voulez-voulez-vous g’nite.

>
My husband loves me. I know that, unquestionably. But he sometimes does things with the best of intentions that result in my detriment, one way or another.
He was able to find, from what I can only imagine was the depths of Hades, a CD for our XBox, with every, and I mean every, game that was ever created for Atari, Colecovision, Nintendo, and Sega. All of them. Pitfall, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pole Position, Pong, Sea to Air Combat, Centipede, Mario, Tetris, Sonic the Hedgehog, all of it.

Bollocks.

As these games heavily punctuated my childhood, and couple that with the nostalgia-trip I’ve been on as of late, you can see the problem.

I have been playing Super Mario Bro.’s for three solid hours this afternoon. Three. I came home from work at 3:00, changed clothes, and hopped into our large leather recliner and zoned out. Then remembered that it was past the dogs’ dinnertime, reluctantly paused Mario, fed and walked the dogs, hopped back on once again, and zoned out for another hour.

I have a painting to work on. I have laundry to do. I don’t have time for this shit.

Like I said, I have no doubt my husband loves me. But.

So, World’s-Largest-Doodle painting is coming along well. Or, it was before the damn video games arrived.

Bollocks.

Game Over.

Voulez-voulez-vous Game Over.

>That’s what my evening has amounted to. Depeche mode and peanut butter. Skippy. At this moment, life is particularly good.
Music for the Masses runs a close second as my favorite album to the Depeche Mode 101 2-CD set. Granted, when I bought it when I was in high school, I owned it in cassette tape form. Cassette tapes are my generation’s 8-tracks. I seem hell-bent on aging myself as of late. But if I’m gonna do it, Depeche Mode is a kick-ass-right-on hell-yeah-muthafuckah way to do it.

And the peanut butter? The peanut butter is incidental. As is the grapefruit juice with which I wash it down.

Life, as I said, is particularly good.

So, here is the painting I have been working on; the canvas size is 24″ X 24″ and will be completely filled with the following pattern:

And yes, this image is to scale. Granted these are the beginning stages so it’s a bit shaggy; later I will go in and paint the white and refine the lines. So I’m looking at confirmed mental disorder status by Halloween. This painting is tedious, maddening, monotonous, utterly time-consuming, and bad for the eyes and my lower back.

I love his stuff!

This painting is my kind of shit. Heh-yeah.

I’m going to bed now. I have to get up at 4:30 A.M.

Voulez-voulez-vous too damn early.

>
I have a problem consolidating items on my refrigerator. I just keep adding and adding layers to it. I have to keep buying increasingly powerful magnets to accomodate my refrigerator-memento habit. Photographs, Christmas cards, baby announcements, 2-dollar bills, gift certificates, drawings. Yep. My fridge.

>
Working on a painting that is not…well, working.

I hate it when that happens. I usually have to step back from it a while otherwise I end up over-working it which usually results in the piece looking muddled and crap-esque.

What’s worse is that this painting is a commission so I have a deadline which invariably works its way into my painting-psyche and in essence prevents me from achieving my goal of painting perfection.

I am making this way more complicated than it needs to be.

So, I shall submit some random B.S. here as to take my mind off of painting and more on typing in hopes that by using separate parts of my brain might assist me in this process.

So, some thoughts that have crossed my mind as of late:

1. I need to make time to get the fluids on my jeep checked.
2. I need to get those damn paintings done. No, wait…that’s counter-productive.
3. I should probably get my hair trimmed. It’s reached the middle of my back and that’s way too long for someone going on thirty.
4. Damn, I’m going to be thirty.
5. Will Smith is hot.
6. I think I’d like to learn Latin.
7. “Lost” is the coolest show on TV since “The X-Files”.
8. Oh! “Lost” is on tomorrow!
9. Why do I have a stomachache?
10. I think the dogs need to go out.

Okay. Time to get back to this thing. I need to get proportion and value back on track here. Wish me luck.

Over and Out.

>
I’ma jus’ gonna hang upside-down offtha couch all evening. Anything that does not require the use of my feet.

Feet are pretty pissed off. So they’re out.

Knee’s not too happy either. Tripped over a parking block walking up from the employee lot and tanked it. Fortunately the car I clung to in order to break my fall did not have a car alarm, otherwise it may have raised some eyebrows with the valet attendants. Unfortunately, the fall was not broken, nor was my knee, however, a rather impressive bruise ensued:

I kick ass with injuries. Grew up somewhat of a tomboy.

Arm went through a glass door when I was seven, scars and stitches aplenty.

Impaled myself on a picket fence when I was eight, so the back of my left upper thigh is beautifully mangled. Little bastard next door was chasing me, so I assign the blame to him.

Hit a dog on my bike when I was fifteen, knocking off my two front teeth and chipping off a chunk of my kneecap which required surgery to repair. Serious road rash down the center of my face, which can be catastrophic to a girl in high school.

Broke my foot, but that was covered in a previous blog.

Sliced my leg open on the handle of a printing press in my college printmaking class, requiring (another) tetanus shot.

Sliced my fingertip off whilst slicing oranges.

More concussions than I care to count.

My husband says I am a medically high maintenance individual. And exceptionally clumsy.

I prefer to be called a bad-ass.

Voulez-voulez-vous bad-ass

>Ridin’ along in my automobile
My baby beside me at the wheel
I stole a kiss at the turn of a mile
My curiosity runnin’ wild

Cruisin’ and playin’ the radio
With no particular place to go.

Ridin’ along in my automobile
I’m anxious to tell her the way I feel,
So I told her softly and sincere,
And she leaned and whispered in my ear
Cuddlin’ more and drivin’ slow,
With no particular place to go.

No particular place to go,
So we parked way out on the Kokomo
The night was young and the moon was bold
So we both decided to take a stroll
Can you imagine the way I felt?
I couldn’t unfasten her safety belt!

Ridin’ along in my calaboose
Still tryin’ to get her belt unloose
All the way home I held a grudge,
But the safety belt, it wouldn’t budge

Cruisin’ and playin’ the radio
With no particular place to go.

>
So.

Here’s the thing:

This dude in Idaho claims that Katrina was in fact the doing of Japanese gangsters known as the Yakuza.

Yep. Apparently, the Japanese, still harboring a bit of resentment over Hiroshima, hooked up with the Russians and acquired this electromagnetic-generator-ground-based-microwave-transmitter thing that is alleged to crate hellish weather systems at the touch of a button in specific locations selected by the user.

Apparently the Russians invented the storm-creating technology back in 1976 and sold it to others in the late 1980s, and is now the property of the Yakuza.

Ah.

(Warning: Tangent)

Damn…I slept too long. Aimed for a post-work-30-minute-catnap that turned in to a 2.5 hour snooze that was finally disrupted by my dogs realizing that it was indeed dinnertime and that I had slept quite long enough.

They are in fact correct, but I will not let them know this.

(Tangent Completed.)

So thanks to this new information we have enough intelligence to know that if there is another hurricane on the gulf coast, it will not be Sue or Amy or Bobbagadoosh…it will be…

(suspenseful pause…)

Hurricane Yakuza.

The name will drive fear into the hearts of millions.

You have been warned.

Voulez-voulez-vous Yakuza.

Postscript: If this Yakuza theory turns out to be indeed accurate, I will feel like a complete asshole, and will promptly submit a retraction-blog.

>I am in distress. I am flabbergasted. I am…dismayed.

Granted, since I do work in a restaurant, I have come to expect a certain level of ignorance in my co-workers; being the only one employed there with a college degree (art, hence the restaurant job, but still…), or even a high school diploma, I realize that some topics of conversation are well beyond their realm of knowledge.

But this was catastrophic.

Out of 5 co-workers this morning, ranging in ages from 19 to 45, not one of them had the slightest idea who Robert E. Lee was.

Not one.

I’m not expecting everyone to like him, nor agree with his cause, but acknowledgement of his existence would have sufficed.

Dear God.

My brain is having difficulty processing this.

Not one knew of “Stonewall” Jackson, Jefferson Davis (Thanks to the penny they had some vague idea who Abraham Lincoln was…) Ulysses S. Grant…nada.

As I said…distress.

I am finding myself developing a slight sense of elitism in my work environment. This is not a characteristic I wish to encourage. I do not find it to be a positive aspect of human nature. It is arrogant, presumptive, and unappealing.

I find it difficult to subdue.

I am going to Hades.

Voulez-voulez-vous Hades.